


Bloody My Knuckles

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Claiming, Concussions, Fighting Kink, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Tending to Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will fears that the FBI will botch their attempt at taking Hannibal into custody and decides to take matters into his own hands, believing that if anyone is to bring Hannibal down, it should be him. Late one night Will travels to Hannibal's house to confront him and as they teeter on the brink of no return Will must make a choice. Is he really willing to lose Hannibal forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody My Knuckles

Will paced back and forth across the expanse of his living room. There were no dogs barring his path for him to distractedly step over or around. Will had called a kennel and informed them that he would be away on vacation for a week. Herding all of his dogs into his car to drive had been one adventure. The expression on the young woman's face who greeted him at the kennel door was priceless; clearly she had not entirely believed Will's insistence that seven mutts would be arriving shortly.

 

That had been hours ago. Will had gone for a long walk through the fields when he got home, forced himself to choke down some dinner, and then paced in his living room when the sun disappeared below the horizon and turned the winter air sharp and unwelcoming. He was at war with himself. Will knew what he _wanted_ to do, but not what the smartest decision was. That was the problem when you played a game with Hannibal; you ended up living more in the future – calculating possible anticipatory moves – than in the present.

 

He knew Jack was edging towards making his own decision – to confront Hannibal and bring him under arrest by whatever means he could scrounge up. Will also knew that to a dangerous degree Hannibal had to be aware of – or at least suspected Will's plotting with the FBI towards his capture. It would be insulting for Will to assume that he had hoodwinked Hannibal completely, even if his act _was_ convincing.

 

_Too_ _convincing_ , some might say. Which was the natural result when one wasn't acting so much as _living_ a role.

 

As Hannibal had played Will, Jack and Alana, so too had Will played Hannibal. For months he had acted out the thoughts and behaviours Hannibal wanted to see in him, tentatively at first and then more firmly when Hannibal accepted the changes as proof of his own skills at manipulation. Will remembered one night, a little more than a month ago, when he had lain in bed staring at his darkened ceiling, analyzing the hard-on he had woken up with. Because Will was accustomed to violent nightmares, but never before had the urge to re-enact them clung to him so insistently upon his awakening.

 

_It will be worth it_ , Will had told himself. It didn't matter that he couldn't confidently pinpoint the boundary between himself and his act anymore. It didn't matter that his heart raced and sang when he finally indulged his imagination and the violent, gruesome ideas it had offered him since childhood. It _certainly_ didn't matter that thoughts of Hannibal were about the only thing that filled his mind – both awake and not – these days.

 

Hannibal would be brought to justice by Will's own cunning and perseverance. Will could work on gluing together the shattered remains of his self-control after it was all over. It wouldn't be long now; Jack was getting impatient. So close. So far. _But that's the problem_ , Will thought as he stopped, pivoted on a heel, and paced his way back to the fireplace. Jack's itch to act would make him sloppy, cause him to release the trigger too quickly. The trap would engage before its quarry was within range. The rat may lose a toe but it would scamper away, burrow safely, emerge and start fresh with a new subject of interest to pursue.

 

Will's eyebrows knit together in displeasure at the thought. Hannibal was sweet and generous with his compliments towards Will's uniqueness now, but as soon as the betrayal was discovered, Hannibal's fondness would sour. Hannibal would leave, find another, and continue his games. Will would be left behind, everything lost.

 

No, Will wouldn't allow it to end like that. He wouldn't let Jack's blind need for revenge ruin what Will had been working towards since the veil was lifted from his eyes and he had truly seen Hannibal amongst the shadows. There was one thing Hannibal was right about and it was that he and Will were alike; two sides of one coin, perhaps. It should be Will and no other that confronted Hannibal and brought him to his knees.

 

The clock was ticking ever on towards midnight when Will stopped suddenly, certainty washing over him like a swell of warm water. He knew what he wanted to do, had to do, _would_ do. Will realized that he could be walking to his death, but it didn't scare him as much as he thought it might. The dogs had been taken care of – if Will didn't return, the kennel would help find homes for them. Will had given them all a hug and a ruffle of fur in goodbye just in case. He didn't care about what happened to any of his possessions if this was the last night he drew air into his lungs.

 

Will didn't bother changing out of the slacks and shirt he had on. They were easy to move around in and didn't have a lot of spare fabric that could be caught and yanked, and that was the important thing. He armed himself with his hunting knife and coat, locked the door behind him and got into his car to make the long, familiar drive to Hannibal's house. The sight of his car was a familiar one in Hannibal's driveway and even though Will suspected that most of neighbours were already asleep at this hour, any nosy onlookers wouldn't raise concern at seeing his beaten-down vehicle arrive.

 

Though Will had originally considered trying to sneak into Hannibal's house, he knew the man slept very little – and lightly when he did at all. Beyond that, as Will turned off the engine of his car and stepped out onto the driveway he could see the halo of lights through the curtains on Hannibal's windows indicating that Will's target was still up and about. While Will valued patience, he knew that waiting for Hannibal to go to sleep would be unlikely to give him an upper hand anyway.

 

Will knocked and stood on Hannibal's stoop, watching the dark cloudy sky until he could hear footsteps beyond the door. "Will," Hannibal's voice spoke of many things when he said Will's name, as it always did. Surprise, suspicion, warmth. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this late at night?"

 

"You said I was always welcome, right?" Will looked at Hannibal's shoulder, avoiding eye contact.

 

"Day or night," Hannibal agreed and held the door open wider in welcome. "Please, come in." Will nodded his thanks and stepped inside. By now he had mastered the ability to hide his disquiet when Hannibal closed the door behind him and slid the lock into place. Will toed off his boots and hung up his coat in the closet as he had been conditioned to do, still avoiding Hannibal's direct attention. "Something is troubling you," Hannibal surmised easily enough. "Come into the kitchen and I'll make you some tea."

 

Hannibal left ahead of Will, allowing Will to follow in his own time. Alone in the foyer Will felt himself waver, his heart clench. Hannibal didn't trust anyone, and yet he trusted Will in his house and out of his sight. It was a significant gesture for Hannibal; one Will had never fully been able to reconcile with his conflicting mind and heart.

 

His hunting knife remained in his pants pocket and Will knew that there would be no way for him to hide its form from Hannibal's perceptive eyes as soon as he walked into the kitchen without his coat on to conceal it. So, did Will leave it behind or did he take a deep breath and do what he came here to do?

 

The handle of it was familiar but not entirely comforting the way it normally was when Will gripped it in his hand. His pace was steady as he walked towards the kitchen, juxtaposed to the pace of his heart as it jolted the way an animal in a cage filling with water – soon to be drowned – fought bitterly for freedom. Will swallowed it down and stepped beyond the doorframe and into Hannibal's sightline. Hannibal was by the counter with the teapot, back exposed to Will; another rare gesture of trust.

 

"I didn't come for tea, Hannibal," Will said, knife held but not brandished overtly.

 

To a casual observer Hannibal didn't respond at all, posture ever calm and confident as he turned on a heel, still holding the mug he had been planning to fill with tea for Will. Hannibal's keen eyes found the blade in Will's hand immediately and the brief seconds after that provided Hannibal the rest of the information he required from studying Will's stance.

 

"It comes to an end then," Hannibal sighed, almost sounding wistful. "I must say I am disappointed. I will miss our game."

 

Will tightened his grip on the knife until his knuckles ached. "You're not even going to try to pretend?"

 

Hannibal blinked but didn't approach. "I would never insult your intelligence by doing so. I had always hoped that it would end with you and me."

 

"It's the way it should be," Will couldn't help but agree. After all, that's why he was here alone rather than with Jack and the FBI at his back.

 

"Shall we get down to it then?"

 

It had all started off so courtly that Will barely reacted in time to dodge the mug Hannibal threw at him. It hit his hand rather than his head, though Will realized that it had likely hit its intended mark when the impact caused him to drop his hunting knife. Hannibal had crossed the kitchen almost as fast as the mug had flown and before Will could duck to grab the blade, Hannibal had kicked it away to a far corner of the room.

 

Will didn't pursue the knife and instead brought both forearms up together to act as a shield to block the first heavy hit of Hannibal's body against him. Hannibal was both slightly taller and larger than Will and clearly knew how to use his form to his advantage. Will immediately felt the bones of his forearms ache at the impact but he kept them together to absorb the next hit and then made a quick jab forward with his left fist, catching Hannibal in the nose.

 

While a normal foe would've at least stumbled or stalled at the hit to their nose, Hannibal didn't even seem fazed. Blood poured from his nose and dripped off his chin but Hannibal was already back in motion, backhanding Will and sending him stumbling backwards as he tried to stop his vision from swimming. Will knew that falling to the ground would end the match considering Hannibal's speed and strength so as Will fell against the back wall he used it to propel him forward, landing a heavy kick to Hannibal's stomach, causing him to double over.

 

Will suspected that Hannibal's years of pursuing and subduing targets was the cause for his skill and resilience, and cursed it under his breath when Hannibal recovered in time to block Will's next hit. They were too evenly matched even with this, trading blow for blow as they manoeuvred around Hannibal's pristine kitchen. Except Will knew he couldn't outlast Hannibal in terms of stamina, each of Hannibal's punches and kicks backed by brutal force.

 

The only advantage Will had was speed. Although Hannibal attacked like a viper, mind calculating split-second movements, Will was just a hair faster which allowed him to duck away from some of the blows and try to at least soften the worst of the damaging hits. Will's ears were ringing from where they had been boxed, one of his eyes watering from a punch to his cheek. His lip was split, the taste of iron spurring him on, and the rest of his body ached too insistently in sync for Will to determine what, exactly, was broken.

 

Hannibal was faring better but not by much. Will was quite certain he had broken the man's nose judging by the continued blood flow, and Hannibal had a row of wicked claw marks on his neck from Will's nails. The rest of the damage was hidden beneath blood-stained clothes, and though Will knew he had laid some good hits, there was no sign of this stopping. In fact, Hannibal's eyes were alight with a fire Will had never seen before.

 

There was only one way this would end.

 

The realization that this could only end in his death or Hannibal's rocketed through Will and caused him to stumble, giving Hannibal the opportunity he needed to get his arm around Will's neck. Will choked as his airflow was cut off and though he scrabbled at Hannibal's arm, there was no dislodging him. The whine building in the back of Will's throat didn't appease Hannibal either, and Will felt his vision blacken at the edges. It would be so easy for Hannibal to kill him now, Will's back arched painfully to accommodate the awkward bend of his neck in Hannibal's grasp. Suffocation or a broken neck; both were possible.

 

Except... Just as Will began to feel his body shut down due to lack of oxygen, Hannibal's grip slackened ever so slightly. Will greedily dragged in whatever air he could manage, and with his fight or flight instincts in high gear, Will used all the leverage he could find to elbow Hannibal in the ribs. As Hannibal let go, Will straightened and turned, catching one of Hannibal's ankles with his foot as they came face to face again.

 

They both knew the second it was over. Hannibal's eyes widened as time slowed down, Hannibal's balance displaced. They reached towards one another, their fingers brushing but not getting a solid grip and then Hannibal was gone, falling back and away. There was a sickening crack as the back of Hannibal's head came into contact with the edge of the island countertop and when Hannibal slumped to the ground, he didn't stir.

 

"Hannibal!" Will croaked, heart falling into the corrosive acid of his stomach as he fell to his knees and scrambled forward, uncaring of the blood soaking into his pants where it was haloing around Hannibal's head. " _Hannibal_!"

 

He couldn't be dead, _couldn't be_. Will was nothing without Hannibal; had no purpose without Hannibal standing as his mirror opposite and equal. Despite the manipulation, betrayal and loss Hannibal had caused Will, Hannibal was still the only person in the world who had truly understood and accepted him. As much as Hannibal had been trying to shape Will, he had been trying to make Will more of who he was, rather than something different.

 

Yes, Will had been working with the FBI to bring Hannibal to the justice he felt the murderer and cannibal deserved. Will had been filled with such hurt and anger at the thought of Hannibal's actions, but it all melted away at the sight of Hannibal's slackened face and limp body. Because never, _ever_ had Will truly considered that he would live a life without Hannibal in it. And Will knew without a doubt, now as he knelt over Hannibal's unresponsive body, that he never wanted to.

 

Two fingers to Hannibal's neck confirmed a persistent heartbeat, though it fluttered faintly. Will released a shaky breath that morphed into a relieved sob as he clutched Hannibal close to his chest, supporting his neck carefully to avoid further injury. Though he knew it had only been a few seconds it felt like an eternity had crawled by before Hannibal groaned and his eyes cracked open.

 

"Will?" Hannibal questioned after gazing up at Will for a long moment, eyes hazy. It terrified Will to see Hannibal so confused and out of sorts, but he was relieved that the man still recognized him. "Are you dripping blood on my shirt?"

 

Will's ragged laugh was ripped from his throat, more than half sob. Only then did he realize that he was crying, and it was in fact tears pattering down on Hannibal rather than blood from his split lip. "Sorry," Will laughed again as he wiped away his tears and drying blood, giddy with adrenaline and relief. "I'm sorry," he broke and held Hannibal close again, just to feel his heartbeat as it grew strength the longer Hannibal was conscious.

 

"Do not apologize. I always knew that if I lost to anyone, it would be you," Hannibal swallowed. The tiny smile he presented Will was one of fondness and pride. His speaking was slow and a bit slurred but he didn't seem troubled. Instead he appeared serene. "I can't say I believed in Heaven, but if this is it then I cannot mind."

 

Will blinked in confusion, wondering if this was a sign of a more serious head injury muddling Hannibal's thinking. "What makes you think you're in Heaven?"

 

The way Hannibal looked up at him had Will's breath catching in his throat. "You wouldn't be here, like this, otherwise."

 

Hannibal turned his face to the side, head and neck still supported by Will's arms. His eyes drifted closed as though the few words had exhausted him and Will cradled him close. Will reminded himself that Hannibal had said ' _heaven_ ' and not ' _hell_ ', and without Hannibal's attention on him, Will allowed a small, private smile to himself.

 

It would've been easy for them both to pick up weapons from the kitchen; Will's discarded hunting knife or any of the cooking utensils within easy reaching distance on the counters. It was only when Will acknowledged this fact that he realized how clear their actions made it that neither of them had ever wanted to cause true harm. Will had done what he set out to do and beaten Hannibal, but he no longer yearned for Hannibal's demise.

 

The sound of Hannibal's head hitting the counter, the warmth of the blood soaking his pants, the frozen tableau of Hannibal on the ground – dead until proven otherwise – had stolen any lingering hatred he had been harbouring. Instead Will found himself entirely distracted by Hannibal's continued existence, especially now with the way Hannibal was currently acting, relaxed and pliant. Affectionate, almost, with the way Hannibal's forehead came to rest against Will's arm.

 

"I've never seen you like this before," Will mused quietly. In a way it was as though Hannibal _had_ died, just for an instant, and come back a changed man.

 

"If I'm dead then there is no need to censor my desires," Hannibal pointed out tiredly, unbothered by the study of his character.

 

"You're not dead," Will informed him. He was nearly overcome with relief again upon being able to say those words. Will said them again as he hesitantly brushed his fingers through Hannibal's matted hair. "You're not dead."

 

"If you insist," Hannibal sighed, allowing the caress. Hannibal winced a moment later when Will's fingers accidentally grazed the gash on the back of his head. Will cursed when his fingers came away bloody. "Perhaps I'm not dead after all..." Hannibal said as he considered the reminder of his pain. "Is it common to feel nauseous in Heaven?"

 

"I wouldn't know," Will said and Hannibal grunted, sounding like he would be more intrigued by the thought if he wasn't nursing a serious concussion on top of other injuries. "I need to get you to a hospital."

 

"And explain our injuries, how?" Hannibal wondered.

 

Will rolled his eyes. "Now you feel like being reasonable?"

 

Hannibal pursed his lips. His eyes were still dozy and half-closed, but he slowly seemed to be regaining more awareness of their current situation and everything that had led up to it. "I don't believe any of my injuries are life threatening and can be treated at home under your watchful eye."

 

"Your head is still bleeding," Will huffed with disbelief. "All over us, need I remind you?"

 

"You are welcome to any clothes in my wardrobe you deem suitable to change into," Hannibal offered easily enough. "As I don't desire explaining our condition to a hospital, I would recommend you check my injury first. Head wounds are prone to excessive bleeding even when superficial."

 

"Thanks for the lesson, Doctor Lecter." Will didn't bother trying to keep the exasperation from his tone. "Where's your first-aid supplies?"

 

"Under the kitchen sink will be the closest kit."

 

Will settled Hannibal fully onto the ground as carefully as he could, wincing in sympathy when one pained groan escaped Hannibal's lips as his neck turned slightly. The head gash and concussion were the most symptomatic of Hannibal's injuries, but the whiplash to his neck would likely cause Hannibal the most extended pain as it healed slowly. With care he rolled Hannibal onto his side and grabbed the first-aid kit quickly, returning to look over the gash.

 

"It's not as deep as I expected," he informed Hannibal, whose breathing had turned a bit shallow due to the pain he was experiencing with his current position. "But stitches would help."

 

"Does it _need_ stitches?"

 

"Well..."

 

"Will."

 

"No," Will snapped. "You could go without stitches. But your nose is broken and I really think a hospital would be good."

 

"Such concern from the man who came to kill me this evening," Hannibal mocked, humour sharpened by his pain. With Hannibal lying sideways the way he was, their eyes could not meet and Will felt like he had been backhanded again.

 

"I didn't..." he started and then trailed away again. What was the point? How could he convince Hannibal that he never would've killed him tonight, even if that had been Will's initial intention upon his arrival?

 

Hannibal lifted a hand and Will grasped it with one of his own. Immediately his mind and body calmed when Hannibal soothed, "I know." They remained like that for a long moment and then Hannibal pulled his hand away to feel his red, swollen nose. "And I assure you that my nose does not appear to be broken. Not for lack of trying on your part, of course."

 

"The hospital..."

 

"Will be there if my condition worsens," Hannibal reminded him. "And if that comes to pass, we can deal with Jack hearing about our midnight tussle later. For now, I would prefer you bandage my head and help me to a more comfortable place to rest."

 

Will relented and took his time cleaning and then bandaging the gash on the back of Hannibal's head to the best of his ability. It wasn't expertly done, especially when Will was forced to fumble around Hannibal's hair, but it would do. Will would need to keep an eye on the bleeding though, and if it didn't stop soon he would insist on the hospital. He would deal with the consequences later, as long as Hannibal remained alive.

 

It was well into the night now, long past the time when any reasonable person would be in bed. Will and Hannibal were not ordinary people though, proven by the scene of them tending to one another's wounds on the floor in Hannibal's kitchen, sitting in their own blood. "What a pair we make," Will laughed in slight disbelief as he brushed a cotton ball soaked in alcohol across the scratches on Hannibal's neck.

 

"I knew from the moment I met you." Will met Hannibal's eyes for a brief, tentative moment, and then glanced away again when his heart did a disorienting flip. Hannibal was propped up against the side of the island now, body slumped and head tilted to one side, but eyes never straying. "How far we've come," Hannibal mused warmly.

 

Will couldn't help the upward curl of his lips. How painful the road had been; how relieving it was to finally be approaching the end. There was still a lot they needed to talk about, plans they had to make and details they had to clarify, but that didn't weigh on Will's mind. With his anger towards Hannibal gone, Will felt like he could finally settle and stop fighting tooth and nail against the world. What would the future hold for him if he allowed himself to imagine Hannibal not only in it, but free and by his side? What would Will become? What would _they_ become?

 

Will's hand holding the cotton ball slid a little lower until his fingers brushed the top button of Hannibal's shirt, sans tie at this late hour. He considered asking if Hannibal needed to have any wounds checked below his shirt, hesitated, and then withdrew while silently chiding himself. It would be a foolish question since neither of them had used a weapon. Ghastly bruises waited below their clothes but unlikely anything more serious.

 

Hannibal caught Will's hand upon his retreat and led his touch back to the top button of his shirt. As one they plucked open the first button and forced the shirt to give way, parting in a tantalizing vee. Will cleared his throat but didn't pull away. "What about Alana?" his eyes asked the tile below them.

 

"You already know her role in all of this," Hannibal said. Will looked up, unwilling to beg but eyes imploring. Hannibal seemed to understand that Will needed to hear the words. "She is an esteemed colleague and a friend. I care for her, but not necessarily in the way she cares for me. Being in a relationship with her has allowed me to blind her and others from my true nature, but once you and I have made plans I will end things with her. After I met you I'm afraid I was lost to any other."

 

Encouraged, Will let the cotton ball fall to the floor and used his fingers to slowly part another button, and then another as he pried the vee of Hannibal's shirt wider. Will's fingers brushed through chest hair and over warm skin, becoming increasingly possessive as more skin was bared to him. He took his time pressing his fingers against each of Hannibal's ribs, greedily enjoying the hisses of discomfort Hannibal released at each bruise Will encountered.

 

Before long, Hannibal clasped Will's other hand and drew it close. Will didn't require more verbal prompting for both of his palms to press and drag along Hannibal's chest and down further. As he explored, Hannibal's fingers teased between Will's hair and the back of his neck, making Will shiver repeatedly and lean closer. He didn't fight it when Hannibal opened the front of Will's own shirt, skilled hands making their own checks for serious damage that were fruitless but enjoyable and addicting.

 

Hannibal's hands on Will's waist pulled him close and Will ducked his head to mouth for a moment at Hannibal's clavicle. Neither of them had discovered any cracked ribs or other internal injuries, but they both knew that sex was far out of the question at the moment. "It's a shame I kicked your ass so thoroughly," Will said playfully, tongue making a broad stroke from the dip of Hannibal's throat up to his Adam's apple before Will sat back again.

 

Hannibal's eyes were dark with lust as he watched Will's retreat. "How I would enjoy making you eat your words," Hannibal rumbled, though he didn't seem perturbed by the reminder of his loss. Focused more, Will realized, on Will's skin bared for Hannibal's own viewing pleasure. "Many times I have imagined fighting you until our bodies ached, only to hold you down and fill you."

 

Will wasn't expecting such bold, crass words from Hannibal and a shudder worked through his body at the mental image. "I would fight you."

 

Hannibal flashed a smile. "It would be no fun if you didn't." They looked at each other, eyes locked and Will finding that he had no desire to look away. The air was thick with both heat and tension, both of them standing on the edge of a cliff they had been nudging each other towards since they met. But if they started now there was a good chance they wouldn't stop and a more serious injury would occur. They both knew this but it was Hannibal who finally mustered up the self-restraint to say, "For now I think sleep would benefit us most."

 

There was no way to argue it. Will left Hannibal to sit for a minute longer while Will threw out the used supplies and packed up the rest of the first-aid kit to bring with them. "What about the floors?" he asked. As he set the kit on the counter he took in the puddles of blood drying on the kitchen floor.

 

"No one will be over to see them until I get a chance to clean them," Hannibal said. Though his face showed his distaste at the mess, Hannibal seemed willing to admit his own limitations.

 

Moving around on his own was already painful enough for Will, and he groaned sharply when helping Hannibal to stand from the ground. Every inch of Will hurt; almost as pleasant as after a good workout except for the pain each time he swallowed where Hannibal had choked him. Will ignored the pain and focused on supporting Hannibal's weight, who was more unsteady on his feet than he wanted Will to realize. First-aid kit in one hand, Will kept his other arm around Hannibal as they trudged slowly towards the staircase together, scaling each step while breathing through the pain.

 

"How I long for a shower," Hannibal said, casting an eye to the doorframe of the ensuite bathroom as they entered his bedroom.

 

"I don't think you could hold your weight long enough to shower."

 

Hannibal opened his mouth to retort but his weight swayed as he stumbled and Will took the majority of Hannibal's bulk on his shoulders until Will got him seated on the bed. "Point taken," Hannibal pursed his lips and looked away.

 

"No need to look too much like a kicked puppy," Will teased, uncomfortable with how disappointed Hannibal suddenly looked. When Hannibal didn't respond, Will nudged his shoulder. "Hannibal, you don't need to be strong all the time."

 

"You deserve an equal."

 

"You _are_ my equal," Will said with certainty. "I realize that now more than ever."

 

"If you had killed me, I would have been satisfied with that end," Hannibal spoke quietly.

 

"Well I wouldn't." Will cupped Hannibal's face with both hands and kissed him hard. Too hard; the force causing Will's lip to split open again. Hannibal didn't mind, instead licking up the blood from Will's chin and then sucking Will's bottom lip into his mouth. Will moaned, stepping in between Hannibal's spread legs and rubbing his clothed cock against Hannibal's stomach to relish in the first waves of arousal. Sparks striking close to an already-smouldering woodpile.

 

"Wait, wait." As he took a step back Hannibal released a predatory growl that had Will wavering in place, wanting to press his body against Hannibal's again. Instead Will licked his own lips, tasting the lingering sharpness of his blood, and brushed his sweaty palms against his pants. "Hannibal, you can barely walk straight right now. Now isn't the right time. And _no_ , that wasn't a challenge."

 

Hannibal's eyes narrowed as he studied Will's face. Hannibal appeared to read what he was looking for because his posture relaxed a moment later. "You will sleep here tonight."

 

Will rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said. "I was planning to."

 

Hannibal went to nod and then winced at the movement of his neck. He reached a hand up to massage his own neck and pointed at the dresser behind Will. "There should be some comfortable pants in there for us to wear."

 

Being the less injured of the two, Will scoured the dresser and picked out two pairs of pyjama bottoms made of soft, warm fabric. He set them on the bed and enjoyed the slow process of stripping down to his underwear in front of Hannibal before tugging on the pyjamas. Will felt self-consciousness bubble up inside him as he let the fabric of his shirt slide down and off his arms, but the heat and approval in Hannibal's eyes helped Will shrug off any shyness and instead savour the way Hannibal's eyes traced the pull of fabric over Will's hips and ass and down his legs.

 

Undressing Hannibal was even more enjoyable since Hannibal – normally a man who always needed to be in control of everything, the puppet master, to be content – gave Will full control. The shirt was thrown away to the floor quickly and Will's mouth mapped more skin and bruises before he nervously tugged at Hannibal's belt and slid it away. The heat between them waned only when Hannibal was forced to get up long enough for Will to help him out of his pants and into the pyjamas, reminding them again to seek out some patience.

 

Once they were both changed, Hannibal moved to lie down fully on the bed. Will flicked off the lights before joining Hannibal on the bed, pulling the blankets up around them both. It was hard for Will now to remember how he had fought this so desperately, how he had harboured bitter hatred and poisonous hurt at the mere thought of Hannibal. How had Will been able to tell himself that he wanted a life without Hannibal in it – in prison or bleeding out from a stab wound caused by Will's hunting knife?

 

Would it be easier? Before, he had told himself 'yes'. But nothing felt as easy as when Will slid towards the middle of the bed and met Hannibal there, allowing their limbs to tangle with an intimacy that shouldn't feel as comfortable or familiar as it did. Nothing compared to the unconditional acceptance Hannibal gave Will, and it could never be replaced.

 

Will had grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly set an alarm to go off every hour, knowing that he would be incapable of staying awake on his own to check Hannibal's condition throughout the night. As soon as the phone was set on the nightstand, Hannibal tugged him back and whispered soft words in Will's ear. Will was never as skilled with articulation as Hannibal, but he smiled and nodded in the darkness until Hannibal's words trailed off as he drifted to sleep. Will followed him short minutes later.

 

#

 

Will groaned in mingled confusion and arousal when he felt fingers pluck at the hem of his pants before tugging them over the swell of his ass and halfway down his thighs where the fabric bunched against the bed sheets. There were lips against his shoulder, mouthing slowly while fingers trailed back up to trace the clef of his ass. At some point the blankets had been thrown aside but it was still warm in the room and Will found it difficult to drag himself fully from sleep.

 

"What time is it?" he mumbled into the pillow, eyes still stubbornly closed.

 

"Shortly before ten in the morning," Hannibal informed him mildly.

 

Will's eyes flashed open at once, looking first to his phone on the night stand and then in the opposite direction towards Hannibal. "It's been more than two hours since the last alarm."

 

"I was awake so I turned it off," Hannibal said. With a little added weight, Hannibal's fingers slipped between Will's ass cheeks to brush his hole and then his perineum.

 

Will shifted, trying to ignore the way Hannibal's caresses were making his cock stir where it was pinned against the mattress. "That's not the point. I'm supposed to make sure your concussion doesn't get worse." He had dutifully woken every hour since they had gone to bed, and Hannibal had indulged his questions to ensure his condition wasn't deteriorating. Now that daylight was streaming through the windows, Will could see that they were both black and blue with bruises littering their bodies, smudges of dried blood crusted on their skin and begging for a shower.

 

"I feel as well as can be expected," Hannibal assured him. The pad of his thumb pressed more firmly against Will's perineum and Will moaned, fingers tightening on the sheets below him. "I am interested in picking up where we left off last night."

 

"Must I remind you that you have a serious concussion among other injuries?"

 

Despite himself, Will felt his eyes drifting closed again as he licked his lips, cock growing stiffer as Hannibal teased behind his balls. "Worry not, my dearest Will," Hannibal said as his hand withdrew. Will fought his instinct to whine at the loss of contact. He heard the drawer of the bedside table being opened and closed and then a cap being popped. He cracked one eye open curiously and saw Hannibal coating his fingers with lube.

 

"Hannibal..."

 

Hannibal was still lounging on the bed beside him, mostly relaxed. "I will take you properly when we are both recovered," Hannibal placated him. "But I still intend to have you now." When his slicked hand returned, his fingers rubbed against Will's perineum and inner thighs but did not push more than a fingernail's depth into Will's hole.

 

"Even if I tell you to stop?" Will wondered curiously.

 

Hannibal's hand paused but did not withdraw. "Would you?"

 

Will considered Hannibal for a moment through his lashes. Hannibal was battered badly and even if his words were no longer slurred, his awareness mostly focused, Hannibal still seemed a bit fuzzy and worn. Will knew this was an honour, to be trusted with such close proximity when Hannibal was so weakened. "No," Will decided. "If you're stubborn enough, I won't argue with you."

 

Pleased by this, Hannibal continued spreading lube until he was satisfied. Will remained where his was, contently sprawled on the mattress and humming at the little sparks of pleasure traveling up his spine from Hannibal's working hand. He felt compelled to roll his eyes when he felt the bed shift and heard Hannibal grunt as he moved out of a horizontal position but again, Will wasn't going to tell him off if Hannibal was so determined.

 

The sparks of pleasure turned into one warm, cresting wave wrapping around Will when Hannibal mounted him and pressed him more firmly into the mattress. "Thighs together for me, Will," Hannibal requested, hands gripping Will's hips possessively.

 

He had never done this before but Will had a good idea of what Hannibal was planning. As ordered he squeezed his thighs tightly together and moaned at the first slide of Hannibal's cock against his flesh. Hannibal pressed in at the little space where Will's ass met his thighs, rubbing against skin on all sides while the head of his cock nudged against the sensitive area behind Will's balls. Best was the weight and warmth of Hannibal above him, holding Will's hips down tightly enough that friction would not be a concern for Will's own arousal.

 

Hannibal fucked between Will's thighs slowly but with force, causing them to rock together on the bed. It was enough to cause Will's cock to drag back and forth across the sheets, making him squirm and arch back to meet each thrust. It wasn't long before Hannibal's exhaustion caught up with him and he lay down atop Will, biting at and panting against his shoulder blades and neck. They continued to rut together, Will bucking back to meet Hannibal's thrusts as often as his aching ribs allowed.

 

It was the laziest fuck Will had ever experienced in his life but it felt so good he didn't utter any complaints. The easy drag of their bodies against one another while Hannibal lay on top of him had Will shuddering with pleasure, loving the way it felt to have Hannibal above him. It was all heat and friction and possession. Hannibal didn't need to be inside Will for the marks on his skin to be a claim, the come soon to be coating Will's thighs, a brand.

 

"Ha—Hannibal," Will panted and moaned against the pillow when a particularly rough thrust from Hannibal had Will's body and cock skidding partway up the bed. "Again, please."

 

Hannibal indulged the plea and repeated the strength of his last thrust, grinding Will into the sheets. "How good you feel to be mine," Hannibal purred.

 

The ownership in Hannibal's tone shot straight to Will's cock, paired with another sharp thrust of Hannibal's length between his thighs. Will couldn't do more than tense and gasp before his body spasmed with orgasm, his come spilling and smearing against the sheets. The tensing of his thighs squeezed Hannibal tighter and after a few more stuttered thrusts of his hips, Hannibal coated Will's thighs and perineum with his seed.

 

Hannibal collapsed on top of Will, startling a slight groan of pain at the sudden contact, but it faded quickly enough in the afterglow of orgasm. Hannibal mouthed at Will's skin while his hips swayed a few more times and then fell still, both of them focused on catching their breath. While Will had woken up fully at the peak of his pleasure, as his body calmed he remembered his pain and exhaustion from waking up every hour to check on Hannibal, who also seemed to be remembering the state he was in.

 

Will looked over when Hannibal rolled off him to lie on the mattress beside Will, brow furrowed with obvious pain. "Any regrets?" Will teased; as close to an I-told-you-so as he was willing to risk.

 

Hannibal's smile was one of satisfied bliss and did weird things to Will's heart. "Not a one. Though I realize that I should refrain from doing more until I am well."

 

Will saw Hannibal tentatively massage his neck, imagining the pain Hannibal was likely experiencing as the endorphins of his orgasm faded. "Aren't you a clever one," Will huffed with exasperation and reached to pluck his phone from the table to reset the hourly alarm. He could feel where his and Hannibal's come was turning cool and sticky but he ignored it to instead indulge in his ongoing exhaustion.

 

"In all matters not relating to you," Hannibal shot back before yawning. Such a normal, innocent action that Will caught himself staring as he lay back down on the bed beside Hannibal. Will smiled at Hannibal's admittance and allowed himself to be pulled closer when Hannibal looped an arm around his waist and moved them carefully into a spooning position. How odd it was to be cuddling with a known serial killer and yet feel unquestionably safe and comfortable. Will had already done all of his questioning and second-guessing though, and had found his answer last night when they came to blows. Now all he had to do was let his eyes slip shut and nestle back against Hannibal's chest.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/)


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